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| Source: Wikipedia |
Instead of dying horribly, captured American soldiers bum around, try to escape, then die horribly for trying to escape.
Prisoners fritter away the hours with games like horseshoes, chess, and smuggling contraband. Cigarettes hold strong as currency. Behind closed doors, men indulge in potato skin liquor, literal rat races, and Russian women prisoners within telescope range.
The cast represents the typical motley crew. Cynics, clowns, hotheads, horndogs, psychos, snitches. That’s right–after enough shenanigans implode, the guys conclude there’s a snitch in their barracks. And, spoiler alert, they’re right.
Prisoners fritter away the hours with games like horseshoes, chess, and smuggling contraband. Cigarettes hold strong as currency. Behind closed doors, men indulge in potato skin liquor, literal rat races, and Russian women prisoners within telescope range.
The cast represents the typical motley crew. Cynics, clowns, hotheads, horndogs, psychos, snitches. That’s right–after enough shenanigans implode, the guys conclude there’s a snitch in their barracks. And, spoiler alert, they’re right.
Like most movies about grown men forced into intimacy, this film showcases human brotherhood under duress, and just how quickly it breaks down. (Very.)
The narrator, a stammering nobody, does more telling than showing, or doing anything useful at all. If not to advance the plot, he exists to contrast the interesting characters that do interesting things, which is just about everyone else.
It's funny, but not sidesplitting funny, unless you’re getting knifed in the ribs. Because beneath the veneer of silliness lies deadly seriousness, like the rainbow film of grease over dishwater-grade “potato soup.” But despite the grim tone, the ending dispatches sweet, sweet justice. It’s like Hogan’s Heroes with balls.
Recommended for smug pragmatists, Jesus camp refugees, and staunch authoritarians who cannot comprehend that tighter regulations (MORE MACHINE GUNS) lead to rebellion, not obedience.
The narrator, a stammering nobody, does more telling than showing, or doing anything useful at all. If not to advance the plot, he exists to contrast the interesting characters that do interesting things, which is just about everyone else.
It's funny, but not sidesplitting funny, unless you’re getting knifed in the ribs. Because beneath the veneer of silliness lies deadly seriousness, like the rainbow film of grease over dishwater-grade “potato soup.” But despite the grim tone, the ending dispatches sweet, sweet justice. It’s like Hogan’s Heroes with balls.
Recommended for smug pragmatists, Jesus camp refugees, and staunch authoritarians who cannot comprehend that tighter regulations (MORE MACHINE GUNS) lead to rebellion, not obedience.
120 minutes.
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